


Our Friendship will become the stuff of Legends

by karrenia_rune



Category: Memory Sorrow and Thorn - Tad Williams
Genre: Boats and Ships, Gen, Introspection, Male Friendship, Pre-Series, Sailing and the sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the relationship between King John and Camaris, from the latter's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Friendship will become the stuff of Legends

Disclaimer: the characters that appear here are the original creations of Tad Williams and his verse of Osten Ard; they are not mine. This is set much earlier than events in the book.

"Our Friendship will become the Stuff of Legends" by Karrenia_rune

We’d met on the battlefield, as opponents, but we did not end that way. He was much older than I, had already begun to show signs of the world-conquering man that he would one day become. 

I could recall him standing tall and commanding in his saddle the day that he came through the Onestrine Pass with his army. The balladeers would have it that once the conflict came down to single combat between the two of us. I, a callow youth of no more than seventeen summers and he a man grown, it would seem I had the greater advantage, even surrounded as we were by John’s retainers and men-at-arms.

But the Lord works in mysterious ways; for shortly after having gained the mastery of the Nabbani men at arms with the passing of my uncle, handed off the war baton to my aide to camp and fought John single-handed.  
We fought a goodly long time, unhorsed each other, and traded blow for blow all that long afternoon as the sun sank below the skirts of the hills.  
He beat me, it was a near thing, but he beat me, and not with a weapon, but with mercy, and I was his ever after. 

For some reason I cannot explain I remember that day as vividly as if it had been etched upon my memory like a carving in the glass. Like glass, I carried it around like the precious it was. Had I ever wondered what might have happened if that treasured possession might ever shatter into a thousand shards? The answer, alas, is yes and no?

Not that it happened all at once, but it happened, I was in awe of the king, but I was also had great appreciation for the man, who seemingly had as great a capacity in his heart for all of his people and set as fine an example as one could wish for people he ruled. They had even come to refer to him in his later years as ‘our old man up in the Hayholt.”

As much as he was beloved by the hostlers, peasants and sundry in his sovereign town of Erchester, he also was generous king to his people to the south, west and, northerners and westerners, the Heyrnstrri, a pagan people but with a good heart and a goodwill. Much like my brother Leobardis, John was a man made to be master and ruler of men, for I fear, I, alas do not have that capacity; and perhaps I never well. 

But I digress, John has the strength of heart and conviction, he has wit and charm, and as I heard several high-ranked courtiers remark once; men and women alike often fell all over themselves in their eagerness to obey him. 

If you think that I think John as King infallible, as I have heard and read about in other lands that kings once anointed by God the Highest, are deemed a kind of viceroy of heaven on this earth, they could not be more wrong.

John’s a good king, but for all of that he is still a man like any other and can make mistakes, but the trick is in learning from them. 

I recall one time when nothing would do but we set sail in his boat Sea-Arrow. John hailed from the small island of Waristen, of which, he curiously would say little of in his later years, and I had learned not to press him too closely on the subject, for it seemed to vex him, but he oh, but he loved that boat, and he loved the ocean.  
I, much younger, preferred the rocking motion of a horse to the side to side uncertain pitching of a boat, and John knew this, and when I made complaint of this John merely said, 

“Camaris, you would do well to learn that there are three kinds of people, those alive, those dead, and those at sea, and I leave the reckoning up to you. Give it a chance and you might find that you prefer an outing on the water every now and again. I find the sea-air helps clear the mind.”

“I find a stroll equally clearing,” I replied.

“You are Nabbani, are you not? I had heard that those folk have blood as salty as the sea. Cheer up, my friend,” said John, “You’ll enjoy this.”

John clapped me on the shoulder as he clambered into “Sea –Arrow” and unhitched it from its moorings, and when that was done unshipped the oars and waited for me to toss the bag of our provisions inside before I climbed in myself. I sat down in the middle while John occupied the bench in the stern.

We set out, the waves undulating like ripples in silk, the spring sunshine warm on our backs as we rowed. The wind came from the west and helped to push as along, John grinning from ear to ear like a rascally and impudent schoolboy, and several times he whopped aloud for the sheer pleasure. His manner and bearing were so that I could not help but chime in. 

He had set about hour of this when the wind picked up something fierce and John was in the middle of a rather long and complicated joke when the boat tipped over and he went over the side, in mid-gesture; I acted as swiftly and rowed to where I had last seen him with his head above water.

Using one of the oars as a means of extending my reach, for the current had carried him much farther away than I had anticipated, I strained as far forward as I could, praying that he would see it and so grab on to it. 

John did so and I hauled back into the boat. His golden hair glimmered with beads of moisture and his tunic and breeches were so damp that stuck to his torso like a second skin, but despite his dunking, John smiled and grinned. “See, it was an adventure. I did promise you an adventure, did I not?’

I sighed and shook my head, “John, my friend, have I mentioned lately that you are incorrigible? And to answer your question, yes you did.”

He smiled and nodded, as if this were nothing new, before adding, “No, not in the last fortnight.”

“Hmm, I wonder what would have happened if we had both gone into the drink?” said John thoughtfully. “I assume that you can swim?”

“I, oh, of course, and for the record, you are incorrigible.”

“Yes, Yes, I am,” he crowed as if he had scored a bit, and with that, we rowed back to shore.


End file.
